Source: Dogs: Bullets & Carnage
Summary: Badou found himself spending another bland evening at his favourite watering hole. This time, however, he has company that is intent on figuring him out, or at least, asserting their dominance.
Feedback: Comments are welcome; constructive and positive. Flames are nice too because they make for something to laugh at and keep my feet toasty.
Special Thanks: Kat, for betaing for me.
Warnings: Slashfic (Slash-fik) n. A fictitious story which contains sexual relations between two or more men. Lots of smoking.
Disclaimer: The characters found here *do not* belong to me. The story itself *does* belong to me. I am making no profit from this endeavour.
Notes: I had been dying to write some Dogs fanfiction, I really was. I’d started this a while back a little bit before or during my exams last year (during my little study breaks.) When I should have been resting my eyes and brain, I was busy scribbling this shit out bit by bit. Anyways, I finally got around to typing it up and here we go. I don’t know *why* the fuck I’ve paired these two together. I really should stuff Badou in with Haine, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop writing this. It's a good example of me shutting my brain off and just hitting PLAY to see what comes out. I’m actually very pleased with how it turned out, so yay.
I do have half the sequel written up, so let’s see what study breaks can produce with that piece ^_^
Oh, and if you don't know Dogs, then PLEASE (oh, god, please!) check them out here at wiki or a review at manganews.net. If you like what you see (and you SHOULD!) then go here for scanlations, or visit dogs_manga to their direct downloads.
Go! Go! Go! Read it, damnit!
His finger angrily rolled over the rough, metal wheel. Flick, flick, it sparked but didn’t light. His unlit cigarette moved from its perch between his lips, dancing to the string of obscenities as the useless lighter slammed to the tabletop under his flat palm. His gaze stretched across the room, seeking a friendly face that might spare him a light. The club was dark, only lit with the throb of the strobe and the occasional coloured flash illuminating the people thrashing about to the speedy beats of industrial barrage that filled the air. He squinted, but didn’t recognize anybody through the smoke. A few people crowded around the booth behind his and he hunched over, the smoke still clinging to his lips as he glared at the spent lighter. He needed a spark, something to bring the cherry heater to life and make him smile a nicotine grin. A familiar flicking sound met his ears, a flame appeared beside him as a hand extended the burning heat towards him and he swiveled to look, planting the open end of his cylindrical sin into that flickering heat. His eye only then flicked up to look at his saviour, when his smile fell a fraction.
Sunglasses at night were just for show, though Badou knew with a sinking certainty that the scars trailing out from the concealing lenses would put his own mutilation to shame. This stranger needed them.
The man regarded him with a steady stare the smoker could feel through the coloured lenses and it only dawned to the redhead that he was expecting something. “Thanks,” he muttered, exhaling some of that noxiously delicious air. Then, “What do you want?”
This man’s mouth moved almost as if it were being pulled into a smile against its will. Almost. His teeth gleamed from behind his thin lips, pink tongue flicking past to accentuate the words. “I was curious about what he sees in you…”
Badou blinked and the man was sitting beside him in the booth. This guy moved fast. The freelance photographer instinctively inched away, his personal space severely compromised by this blonde in a pristine suit. He leaned back, pressing his back into the soft padding of his favourite seat, his head pressing into the hard wood and still this man pressed closer. “What the fuck?” Badou’s hands twitched, palms suddenly sweaty and he pressed them flat against his thighs. He couldn’t move any further back, and the man was pressing in against him. Damnit, this jerk was too fucking close, and Badou wasn’t in the mood to fight, but he wouldn’t let this guy just get all gay on him.
He inhaled a heated breath – nearly sucking it from the blonde’s mouth – readying to shove him away. His body tensed, fingers folding into fists. That man with the scars trailing from beneath his glasses grinned electric, invading Badou’s personal space one minute and drawing away the next, leaving a gulf of questions in Badou’s head as he settled into the seat beside him. This temporary relief didn’t ease the uncomfortable feeling of being trapped, but somehow, Badou was content so-long as there was enough room for him to smoke. He lifted his fingers to pull the cigarette away from his lips, drawing deeply before inhaling properly and he waited. If this man was going to get in his face, he’d fucking wait for him, damnit. He watched, frowned and stared. The silence spread like the space between them, Badou smoking while glaring at the man who sat with confident poise, one leg thrown over the other at the knee. His arm crossed over his lap so he looked like an elegant contortionist in his white suit. That intense stare, scrutiny tangible from behind those bug-eyed glasses began to wear on the redhead’s last nerve. He just kept watching. What the fuck did he want?
Badou reached out to his cigarette pack on the table. The abused cardboard yielded its last occupant and he took it between greedy lips, biting the filter with bared teeth and lighting its end with the heater from the first cigarette. His lungs welcomed the poisoned air inside and he sighed blissfully before staring at his uninvited guest. Back to the question, “the hell are you talking about? Who sees what in me? Start making sense or get the fuck out.” He raised his beer to his mouth, welcoming the distraction and needing something more between them. He skillfully angled his smoke to the side of his mouth while he drank, the filter balancing on the edge of his lips as his mouth was otherwise occupied. He was lazy, he felt like showing off, or at least proving that he was relaxed enough to drink and smoke at the same time.
He’d perfected the move, smoking and drinking. He’d impressed enough girls with it to get their numbers or invited back with them. The stranger just kept staring, though he moved forward suddenly, his hand snaked out lightning fast to pluck the cancer stick from the redhead’s mouth. Fast as lightning, Badou didn’t see it coming, except when the burning heater drew his eye from where it glowed, jutting from its new place between the stranger’s lips. Only Haine had ever been able to do that. The redhead snapped his beer down, the fluid motion followed up by a snap of the wrist that reclaimed the cigarette from the stranger – he’d had plenty of practice with his white-haired accomplice to reclaim his stolen vice. “Hands off my smokes, unless you’re buying me a new pack.” He replaced it between his frowning lips, eyeing the other man and deciding on a way out of there. “What the fuck do you want to know?”
“We share a mutual… friend, Badou,” he rolled the vowels around his mouth, seeming to verbally molest each one before letting it out. “I’m curious about what he sees in you.”
“You talkin’ about Haine?” Badou frowned, “Don’t say it like that, makes it sound gay.”
“No!” his nose scrunched at the denial that rang clear over the throbbing music. “That idiot isn’t my boyfriend.”
The blonde seemed to sit back, an unbelieving ‘Oh’ on his lips, but he said nothing further.
“Look,” Badou ground out. “I’ll say this once; our relationship isn’t like that.” He suddenly wanted this stranger to believe him, wanted to believe it himself. No, he just wanted this guy to fuck off and let him smoke. Then a thought struck him. “We’re not like that, so if this is some jealousy thing, I’m not moving in on your turf. You can have him.”
The stranger’s laughter was as smooth as smoke, washing over the redhead’s senses at a level that cut right through to him, and he swore he could see it rolling through the hazy air towards him. It was as if they were in a different pocket of reality on the back of that bar, and he felt his stomach clench as he watched the stranger’s arm move between them, his hand sliding under the table and he felt those long fingers lightly squeeze into his knee. “What the fuck?!” he backed away, sliding his legs out of reach. The throb of the music pounded in his ears, his smoke burning down between his fingers – forgotten.
The blonde’s grin never wavered, growing slightly, white teeth gleaming in the dim light. “I think I see it…”
“You don’t see shit,” Badou bit out, taking a drag of his smoke as he looked past the stranger to the club, welcoming its heavy industrial barrage to slice through him. He was briefly distracted by a few girls and willowy guys who were thrashing about on the floor in a rhythm-less dance of wild limbs and jerky movements. Their swaying forms were hypnotic and chaotic, though they might as well have been a mile away; Badou was staring down this man that seemed to have some sick interest in him.
“He’s playing a dangerous game,” his charming lilt drew Badou’s attention back to him again. “And it seems you already know the rules…”
Badou’s voice caught in his throat. He was going to tell this guy to fuck off and quit with the vague bullshit, though that thought died in his lungs as he witnessed the stranger’s finger lightly perched against the frame of his glasses. He held the eyewear up a fraction to expose the scars that had been peeking out, trailing down his cheeks.
Badou coughed and his scarred hand flew up to his eye patch, the smoke wavered in the air around him.
“I think I’ll enjoy playing with you too…” The man moved quickly; one moment he was a safe distance away, comfortably far away. The next moment, his cold fingers held Badou’s face in a steely grip, fingertips digging into his cheek and Badou couldn’t pull away. His legs were trapped by this stranger who moved against him in a bold gesture, pinning him to the back of the booth with his body. His other hand came up beside its mate, this time the fingers latched around Badou’s throat.
His neck fit comfortably into the man’s palms, the muscles yielding under fingertips that squeezed with repressed strength. Badou dumbly grabbed the stranger’s wrist, pulling weakly against the strangulation. The smoke in his lungs burned, air choked off and gasping. He was locked in, staring into that grotesquely beautiful man’s eyes and he was slowly losing consciousness.
Air, air, air he’d poisoned and sucked in with willing and greedy lungs was leaking out in cyanide puffs, and the strobe continued around them, bleary, the pounding rhythm beat through him, fast and matching the climbing rhythm of his heart and he was somehow flying.
Then, the pressure released a fraction and the man’s lips were on his and he could only gasp and suck in the air as a tongue snaked in to possess his mouth and he grudgingly let it, so-long as he was allowed to breathe.
Damnit, damnit! He struggled weakly, fingernails digging into the man’s wrist, pressing his head into the back of the booth. The stranger’s fingers held his neck, gliding over the skin; caressing. Badou paused in his struggles, twitching as those fingers spread apart, spread to touch and grope at his throat. Everything about this man was sharp and precise, yet the movements were exploratory, inquisitive, bordering on tender and the redhead felt a shiver race up his spine at the contrast. He shuddered as that man’s tongue continued to work against his in a violent assault and he was helpless to do anything but let it. Let that muscle shove its way inside and do as it pleased, while his rough, battle-worn fingers explored his throat with butterfly-touches.
Badou released the man’s wrist and moved to grab his throat as well, his nicotine-stained fingers resting lightly, too lightly – he was supposed to be resisting, damnit – on the stranger’s throat. The collar of his suit was soft; soft, silky and expensive and showed he really was from a different level of the city. Nobody around there had a suit that white and clean… Badou ignored the questions in his head, he didn’t give a fuck where this guy was from, and it didn’t matter if he wondered why he was kissing him. He just wanted to fucking strangle this guy and he pulled at the tie, loosening the binding and dipping his fingers below the stiff fabric to feel… metal.
He started, his eyes flying open and the blonde seemed to falter in the kiss, his fingers tightening around Badou’s throat in response. The redhead tried to pull back, breathe, do something, but all he could do was continue to match this man’s tongue as he fingered every inch of the metal in his neck, under the fucking skin, and all he could think of was Haine’s neck ring.
Haine, his partner – not really friend – who couldn’t die, but could still feel the pain…
Badou dug in with his nails, scratching to draw blood and he grinned when the man withdrew his tongue.
What was that coppery taste in his mouth? He watched the stranger hovering inches away, those sunglasses somehow in place again and the same knowing grin on his lips; kiss-swollen lips, Badou noticed. Fuck.
“I think I see it now,” the man sighed, seemingly satisfied.
Badou frowned, double-fuck, he wasn’t satisfied! He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, shit! Shit! He didn’t swing that way and this guy had just tongue-fucked him in a goddamn bar, and he only now thought of how disgusted he was?! He was disgusted… wasn’t he?
Damnit, it didn’t feel that way.
“I look forward to seeing you again, then.” The blonde stood, just as pristine and cool as when he’d first sat. “Maybe we can play some more when you make it down to the lower levels. I promise something more fun than this,” he seductively brushed a fingertip over the eye patch.
Badou shivered and felt his pockets for his pack, a fucking smoke… he was out. Damnit!
The finger on the eye patch pulled back and the blonde stepped away. Badou was glued to his seat. Damnit, he wanted to go after him. Why the hell did he let that fucker get so close? Why did he know about Haine? Stupid, he’s just like Haine. Badou curled his fingers, resting his elbows on the table and dropping his head to his arms as the man left. He could feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, the familiar tingle of anxiety when his nicotine levels dropped. The music seemed to get louder, grinding industrial beats speeding along to the freaked-rhythm of his heart. He lifted his head and brought the pint to his lips, tipping it back to get the last gulp of the smooth liquid. He looked to his crushed cigarette pack on the table, noticing one cylinder left in its mangled shell. He frowned and shot forward to retrieve it. Hadn’t he been out? Nevermind. He slapped a worn bill on the table, tucking it under the pint glass and slipped the last cyanide stick between his lips. He moved to stand, uncomfortably shifting his jeans and letting his leather jacket hang low his shoulders, only stopping to bother a waitress for a light before he rushed outside. He slammed the door open, the metal cracking against the old brick and mortar as he violently coughed the first lungful to the stale night air. Not his brand. He pulled the smoke from his mouth and frowned at the blue bands that circled the filter in two precise splashes of colour. He didn’t recognize the damn logo on it at all.
His brow quirked down and he rolled his eye before shrugging and tucked it back between his lips. That fucking guy… well, the smoke was stronger than his usual, cheap brand, but it wasn’t anything Badou couldn’t handle.
~End Chapter One~
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